The Soldier's Choice
by Meyer331
Summary: If you did some research on John Pitcairn, you'd realize he isn't like any redcoat leader. He was a man who cared for his men as well as his enemies, this being the Continental Army and the militia of the American revolution. He never desired war, there were even times where he wanted to switch sides. So. What if he did before Connor killed him?
1. Chapter 1

Staring down Bunker Hill and across the way, all I saw were good men on both sides. Dead. Dying. Most were young; I watched them cut down in their prime, and imagined their grieving mothers and sweethearts. This was a wound that cut me deeply.

"It seems we are well and truly at war," I said. "A pity, that. For it's a war we did not ask for. A war we did not wish. . .And why would we? We're killing our brothers down there—and for what? Duty? Honor? Liberty and justice, as the Yanks claim? No."

I looked at the two men standing beside my horse.

_This war ends now. Now, before it gets any worse._

I climbed off my horse, and walked to the surgeon's tent. "Clinton. Pigot. To me."

As I tore the clean white clothe off of a cot, I heard Clinton's surprised tone. "Sir, what on Earth are you doing?" he asked.

"Is this big enough?" I say, spreading the clothe across my chest.

Pigot stood in the opening of the tent. "Big enough for what?"

"Pigot! I want you to bring me the longest tree branch can find," I ordered.

"Why, if I may ask?"

"**Now, soldier**!"

Pigot jumped from my loud voice and ran hurriedly out of the tent, while Clinton stared at me in bewilderment.

"Don't stand there like a barrel of fish. Get the needle and thread."

While Clinton searched a chest filled with medical implements, I cleared a table and placed the clothe on it. Then Clinton found the box of thread, and set it on a table next to me.

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"Making a flag," I said flatly.

"W-why is it that you're making a flag?" he asked with curiosity.

"To end this. This has gotten out of hand way too fast, and we've lost too many lives on both sides." I went to another cot and tore its clothe off.

"Are you suggesting we surrender, sir? When we're inches from victory?"

"Dear God, did you not hear what I said, soldier?! There has been too much bloodshed in too little time. When I die, I don't want to be the monster who started a war."

I started to sew the pieces of fabric together hurriedly, pricking my fingers.

_Oh God, but what about Haytham? One could only imagine what he would do to me._

That didn't matter—the Colonies came first.

Damn it, where's Pigot with that bloody stick?

Then I heard someone behind me. At first, I thought it was Pigot. To my discomfort, it was a native wearing the robes of an Assassin.

My eyes widened, but before I could warn Clinton, the Assassin extended a blade from his wrist. He stabbed him in the shoulder in one swift motion, and withdrew it. Clinton fell to the ground with a shout of pain.

Then the Assassin walked to me. . .

_Oh, Christ._


	2. Chapter 2

The Assassin drew his hidden blade. There was no place for me to run; I was at the end of the line. Before I could speak, he grabbed me by the throat and jerked my body on top of the table.

_ I can't die yet, there is still too much to be done.  
_  
I watched in horror as he pulled his arm, light glinting off the metal of his blade and shining into my retinas.

_Your life really does flash before your eyes. Go figure.  
_  
I turned my head, with what little room I had, and tightly shut my eyes. A burst of air hit my face, but I strangely felt no pain.

I slowly opened my eyes—and saw not only the blade's tip, but the face of the Assassin. He had dark skin, brown eyes, and something else. . . something I couldn't quite put my finger on. He seemed rather familiar.

"Is what you said true?" he asked, very calmly.

Remarkably, he was fluent in English. These natives never cease to amaze me.

"What?"

"What you said about your soldiers and the militia—is that true?" he asked, in a more stern voice.

"Yes."

"Then why? Why did you shoot first at Lexington?"

"I didn't do anything of the nature, sir. I haven't a clue where that damned shot came from. Before I could even react, my soldiers had gone off like a cattle stampede. My officers were scattered, so I had to catch them up and regroup with the soldiers. When I found them at the bridge, almost all of them were dead on the ground."

"A convincing story, but why should I believe you?"

"For two reasons. The first: me making a white flag." I gestured toward the now-crumpled clothe at the side of my head. "The second being that my role in this damn army is 'peacemaker'. Why do you think I was at Lexington in the first place?"

"To kill Hancock and Adams, and those they support."

"Kill them—are you mad? I wanted only to parlay. So much to discuss, to explain. But this has escalated far too fast; any thought of negotiation went out the window."

He continued to stare at me. It looked as though he was trying to read my thoughts, to tell whether I was lying. I have seen this stare before.

"Ha! I got him!" I looked over past the Assassin, and saw Clinton wrapping his arms around the man's legs. "I got his legs, sir; run!"

I looked back to the Assassin. He looked upon me with a scowl.

"Clinton, I love you, but I want to kill you," I said, not breaking eye contact. "J-just don't mind him."

He stared for another moment, and then retracted his blade and released his grip on my throat.

I got off the table, straightened out the clothe, and continued sewing.

"You're not going to kill me?"

"Your fate remains to be seen," the Assassin said.

I paused and took a short breath. "After this, if I do not have your trust, you may kill me," I said. "Cut me to pieces six ways from Sunday, for all I care—I deserve it."

"Sir, have you gone barmy?" Clinton spoke from the ground. "You're actually giving this man permission to kill you?"

"No, Clinton. I feel awake for the first time in years. At least if he is going to kill me, I can die with a smile on my face knowing that I've done the right thing, probably saving hundreds—if not a thousand lives. Now would you kindly get off his legs? You're getting blood all over his trousers."

Clinton stumbled to his feet. He gripped the blood-stained shoulder of his uniform. Then he fell to the ground again.

"Oh cripe, he's losing too much blood," I shouted, rushing to his side.

Then I heard quick footfall and slightly labored breathing. Pigot, finally arriving with the tree branch.

"I'm so sorry it took me this long, I couldn't find one that would gi—" He stopped mid-sentence, looking at me, the Assassin, and Clinton. "D-did I miss something?"

I grabbed the clothe and branch and tied them together, then left the tent, telling Pigot to attend to Clinton. I mounted the closest horse.

As I held up the now-completed flag, the Assassin came to my side. My soldiers looked at him curiously. "Wait," he said. "How do you expect all of your men to just stop?"

"I have helped my whole battalion on numerous occasions and even saved their lives. They trust my better judgment."

"If that is true, then I wish you luck and I will vouch for you—as well as your men," he said.

"Thank you, sir. I don't believe I caught your name."

"Connor. My name is Connor."

_Connor? An odd name for a native.  
_  
"Then thank you, Connor," I replied. "I trust I will see you when I surrender?"

"You have my word."

Both anxious and confident, I charged to the firing lines with the reigns in one hand and the flag high in the other.


	3. Chapter 3

"**Come on, girl, go! Go, damn you!**", I ordered as I repeatedly spurred my horse.

As I could see my soldier's firing lines in perfect formation down the hill with cannons in the midsection, I turned my attention to the battlefield below... Dear God, so many bodies... All of them... Dead. No, if I die, I will not die a monster!

"**HOLD YOUR FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE**!", I roared as I waved my flag to and fro.

I reached the bottom of the hill and my men did not stop shooting and more of the militia kept falling. My own men were not listening to me... could they not see me? Are they so hellbent on the militia's destruction that they tuned out everything? My mind was racing:

"_What am I to do, run in front of them, get shot in the process?_", I thought, and coming to realization, "_Yes... It must be done_."

My life has been a good one, more exciting than most, but yet, so many regrets... How could I support something like this? The king? The Templars? And my family, how could I involve my own family in this? What if the king were to find out about my treachery? One of my sons is a redcoat, and my wife and the rest of my sons and daughters are still in England. My son here can be saved, but the rest of my family, how could they be saved, and the families of my men? King George will hunt them down. What am I to do? No- I mustn't think of that now- focus on the task at hand.

I spurred my horse and I charged in front of the firing lines. I could hear the sounds of musket balls whizzing past me. Then, when I reached near the middle, three of them hit my horse and one was logged in my leg. I fell off my horse just as it hit the ground.

There I laid, groaning with tears flooding my eyes from the pain of the hot musket ball in my leg. But then I noticed, my men started to stop shooting. A few of them ran to my side, they looked like the were shouting as they looked me in the eyes. I could not hear them, only a piercing ring. I turned my head to my side, I saw the flag still in my hand.

It hurt more than most of the things I have ever endured in my line if work, but I found the strength to lift myself up onto my feet. I looked to my side and saw my soldiers starring at my flag in surprise. Then,I saw the surprise on their faces slowly melt away to understanding, they knew what I was trying to do. They turned around to the firing lines behind them, waving their arms about and yelling to cease fire. Then, a smile grew on my face. I started to wave my flag in the air, watching the militia steady their attack. I could no longer hear the boom of cannons and bangs of muskets and no longer saw their deadly flash. I've done it.

I felt my leg finally start to give in. I fell to one knee.

"_God on high, this hurts so much._", I thought

I was suddenly lifted onto my feet and my arm wrapped around something. I turned my head to see Connor with a small smile on his face. He aided me up the hill as each of my soldiers followed us in concern of me. Each one of them were asking what happened to me, why I did what I did, and who the strange hooded man was. Funny, I was wondering that myself

When I reached my encampment, I was greeted by my son William.

"Father! Father! What happened to you?", he asked almost hyperventilating.

"Calm down, William. Just took one in the leg.", I said in an assuring tone.

"And who is this?", he asked looking at Connor.

" A friend.", Connor answered,

I looked to him, and noticed that his smile slightly grew, in which I replied with a smile of my own. Then I felt a large twinge of pain that made me drop to the ground. I was lifted up by both my son and Connor and taken to a medical tent. A doctor was at the ready with a scalpel when I arrived

"Don't worry Herr Major, all shall be well.", the doctor said with an eerie grin on his face

"_This procedure is going to be excruciating_.", I thought.

* * *

_Three hours later_

I woke up in a cot staring around the medical tent, noticing I was still in my uniform without my tricorne and noticed a large blood stain on my trousers, but hard to tell, everything was so distorted and blurry. The doctor must have given me some form of anesthesia to make the surgery easier. Thank God we had some anesthetic, very hard to come by in these times.

As my vision began to somewhat become clear, I saw at the entrance of the medical tent William and Connor talking. What were they talking about? Then Connor turned his head to me and nudged William. The two of them came to my side, William crouched by my side and pulled me into a hug, while Connor stood above the both of us with his arms crossed.

"John, how are you feeling?", the native asked me.

" Fine, Connor, thank you.", I said.

" You are damn lucky it was just your leg that got shot at you mad bugger.", William said.

"Indeed. Connor. What would you have me do now?", I asked

He stared at me for a moment and looked outside the tent.

"The patriots and the militia are still on Breed's hill, I require you to come with me so you and General Putnam to discuss the terms of surrender."

"Very well then. Fix me with a splint and we'll be on our way."

"What? You're leaving?", William said in worry.

"Yes, son. I must make amends and provide any services I or any of my soldiers can. We have to stop this war."

"But we surrendered."

"All the more reason for the redcoats to continue their attacks."

"Wait", Connor piped up, " perhaps you should at least rest until your leg is more manageable."

" Your concern for me is admirable, Connor", I said now sitting on the side of my cot," but this is a problem that needs to be resolved now. Take me to your general, Connor."

I stood up, wobbled for a moment, and fell forward into William's arms once again, just inches from the ground. He gently put me down onto the ground, sitting. I looked up at the both of them and both trying to hide a grin.

" I have a new plan.", I said, "Son, I need to carry me."

"Carry you?" He asked.

"Yes, carry me. You are my legs for the time being. And maybe come with us, I don't want to be falling off my horse... Anymore."

"Anymore?", Connor asked.

"My horse was shot at my retreat from the bridge in Concord and I fell off.", I said.

" Not to mention it got shot off again when you were racing down the hill", he added.

"That one I saw coming."

* * *

A splint made of two wood planks and a strand of rope was wrapped around my leg. Connor and my son assisted me to the horses and I saw the light in the fade since my recovery, I'd say about 7:00 at night. I saw my men making small campfires and saw a larger one that had a leg of venison smoking and the meat itself was lightly sizzling and smelt of an array of spices.

"_When did I eat last?_ ", I thought to myself with my mouth starting to water, "_No, focus, John. Lives are still on the line."_

I was mounted onto my horse with the help of Connor and William. I winced and felt a twinge of pain coursing through my leg as I tried to straighten my leg into the stirrup of the saddle. Connor got on his horse and William got on the back of mine.

We galloped along down the hill and I took a final look to my men. I saw some if my men still at the cannons and some still with muskets in arms. A chilling thought came to mind:

"Connor, might I ask what will stay the hand of the patriots from bombarding my men or my men from bombarding yours?", I asked.

The young native looked to me with both a sincere and concerned expression.

"William and I managed to calm down the situation while you were recovering. I am not entirely certain if conflict shall resume."

" All will be well Conor.", William chimed in, "I have discussed with our men that there shall be negotiation between my father and general Putnam. They all said as long as the Patriots try not to pull any tricks, they shall steady their weapons. Guess some are just a tad paranoid, my father is a father figure to these men."

"Which brings me to wondering if the Patriots made such a promise?", I asked.

"Yes.", Connor said, "As long as they British stay their hands. But I do worry if what happened at Lexington repeats itself here."

"Oh, piss.", I cursed, "We still don't know who caused that damned shot?"

"No, I know what might have caused it, something similar happened in Boston.", Connor said, " I hope all will be somewhat resolved after this."

"As do I Connor", I said, "As do I."


	4. To Whoever Might Be Interested

**Hello Everybody! My name is Mitchell, you can call me Mitch.**

**I've been looking at the traffic graph and seeing that is am getting a ton of views! Thanks for that by they way. Now something tells me that a lot of you people liked Pitcairn in the game, otherwise you probably wouldn't be here in this AU. Pitcairn has always acted so polite and so noble in the brief time we see him, even in his death. And to tell you the truth, I was pissed off to no end when he died, because what he said about wanting to parlay with Hancock and Adams, it was true! Not to mention his place on the loyalist army was a peacemaker and a negotiator.**

**Now here is something that will f*** with your head for a moment. He actually did plan to switch sides at a time! But you're probably wondering why would he switch sides in the beginning of the war. Over his years of service, he had grown tired of the brutality of King George and his army, and if you actually did some research, he treated his men and even his prisoners better than anybody else, he was even a friend of Paul Revere! It's true! When he was billeted to a tailor named Francis Shaw (who was fiercely anti-British), Pitcairn used his charisma and kindness to become a good fiend of Shaw, his family, and neighbors. The two always had socials where Pitcairn, his officers, and Shaw's neighbors (including Paul Revere) would get together to formally discuss politics. But something that I hated most when he died, was that he was supposed to be shot and not stabbed and when he fell from his horse, he fell into the arms of his son, William who cried, "I have lost my Father!". And tear-jerkingly, some of the soldiers said, "We have all lost a father!". And it absolutely disgusted me when everybody acted like they hated him, but in reality, when he was killed, he was mourned by friend and foe alike.**

**So like I said, I'm going to portray what might have been if the madness of conflict gotten to Pitcairn quicker.**

**Like and leave a review!**  
**3 Mitch**


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As we arrived at the Patriot encampment, I saw each and every one of the militia and soldiers in a trench with their weapons at the ready, in both cannon crews and marksmen alike. They turn their head towards me, looking upon me in such discontent, they had the right to be doing so. I saw the carts of the fallen soldiers were overflowing, several of them were young men that couldn't have been over the age of seventeen. So many bodies in so little time. I wonder what all of these young were before any of this petty conflict ever started. Farmers? Carpenters? Hunters? Scholars maybe? Cut down in their prime, every single one.

"_Don't worry, you lot_", I thought, "_I shall ensure that your deaths were not in vain._"

Myself, Connor, and William dismounted our horses and walked over to a small platform of wooden planks beside a flag pole with a table made up of crates. And at this table were two soldiers and a man wearing a general's attire, smoking a cigar.

"Is this the great general Putnam I've been hearing so much about?", I asked turning to Connor.

"Yes it is. He has been anxious about meeting you ever since I told him about your condition.", he replied

"As have I. I do hope that this situation isn't beyond repair, God knows there will be more hell to pay if we anger King George any further."

"You hate losing the lives of the people, yet you still side with the man that takes them away.", he said.

"I hate that bastard, King George, but I respect his power. It takes more than a commander and his battalion surrendering one battle to just have a war grind to a halt."

" You said you'd help in any way you could."

"Connor, you don't even know what power you are trifling with.", I said grimly," It will take much more than me and my soldiers surrendering in one battle to stop a power hungry king."

As we reached the platform, the two soldiers put their attention to us and General Putnam afterwards. Never have I seen such a look of surprise on one man's face, the cigar he was smoking dropped from his lips and onto the ground.

"You never do cease to amaze me, boy", he said gesturing to Connor.

"He certainly is no wet blanket", I thought.

"Jonathan, pleasure to meet you.", he said extending a hand to me.

"Likewise, General.", I replied, shaking his hand.

* * *

I was taken to his tent with my son at my side to discuss the terms of surrender. It wasn't a large tent, but wasn't small either. It held a signal cot, a small table a bottle of scotch surrounded by five glasses, and a large plank table with a map and beside it, a box of Cuban cigars.

"Before we start, would anybody care for a smoke or drink?", Putnam asked opening his box of cigars.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to have a sober mind while discussing terms.", I replied.

"Understandable.", he said picking up a cigar and lighting it,"Perhaps after all is said in done you can celebrate with one?"

"Maybe."

The sweet smell of the cigar filled the room as William helped me lean on the desk.

"Now as per regulation, you are to surrender your officer's sword and pistols."

" I have a sword but no pistols", I said undoing the buckle on my belt, removing my sword and handing it to the general," I'm afraid they were lost from our retreat at the bridge at Concord. My horse was shot, I fell off, and the damn beast ran off with my pistols... And my purse."

"That's a damn shame, I heard they were a gift from King George himself.", he said throwing my sword onto the plank table.

He took a seat on the cot and took a few puffs of his cigar.

"Now that I think of it", he said blowing the smoke out of his mouth," I recall a few lost horses lately being found with weapons and supplies, what did your pistols look like?"

"They were silver scroll butt pistols."

He stood up and revealed his holsters holding each a scroll butt pistol. He removed one of the holsters from his belt and placed it onto the table next to my sword.

"Consider it a gift after we finish negotiating."

"He had two pistols last I checked.", William said.

"I'm keeping the other one", the general said, " I mean no disrespect, but do you know how hard it is to get ahold of quality weapons, like these?"

"It is quite fine, General Putnam", I said, "I will see what I can do about opening more supply routes to get you better supplies."

"Thank you, John.", he said, "I can only hope with your help that this conflict will be resolved faster."


End file.
